As the tunnel was plunged into darkness again, they reached the remaining column, now alert to the last man. Nakor, who had worked his way to the head of the line, said, “Serpent men, yes?”
“How’d you know?”
“I felt them” was his answer. “I feel a lot of strange things here. This is a bad place.”
“I’ll not argue that,” said de Loungville. He let his breath out slowly, in frustration. Then he said, “I want us out of here as fast as we can get.”
Erik found listening to his voice in pitch darkness only heightened his appreciation of the tone of frustration in the man’s statement. Then de Loungville asked, “Which way do we go?”
Nakor whispered, “We move roughly to the southeast. I think we go the way the snake men came from, not follow after. I think they came from the surface and go somewhere deep within the mountain. We are high enough that we will find it cool, cold even, when we come out. Serpent people don’t like the cold, so I think that would be the place they don’t live.”
“You think they live down under the mountain?”
“Could be,” Nakor answered. “Hard to know, but they are here and we need to do many things before we start fighting again. If we die, then no one knows what’s really going on, and that is bad.”
De Loungville was silent. Erik found himself growing uncomfortable with the duration and at last said, “Sergeant?”
“Shut up,” came the quick response. “I’m thinking.”
Erik and the others stayed silent. Then at last de Loungville’s voice cut through the darkness. “Greylock!” he called, his voice low but urgent.
From the rear a figure moved slowly forward, trying not to step on feet in the dark. At last a voice said, nearby, “Yes?”
“You’re in charge. I expect you to get as many of this company out alive as you can.”
The former officer said, “I will, Sergeant. I’d like Erik for my second.”
De Loungville didn’t hesitate. “Von Darkmoor, you act as sergeant for a while. Jadow, you’re his corporal. All of you pay attention to whatever Nakor and Hatonis have to say.
“This is what you’re going to do. I’m waiting here for Calis. I don’t want to try to mark the passages we take in case more of those Pantathians come this way. Leave me one torch and I’ll wait here until I decide the Captain’s not coming back.” There was a note of urgency and worry in his voice Erik had never heard before. He wondered if he would have noticed it had he been able to see de Loungville’s face.
“Then I’ll catch up with you,” continued de Loungville.
“Now, here’s what you do. When you reach the surface, get across the grasslands as best you can, and to the coast. Acquire horses or steal a boat, but somehow get back to the City of the Serpent River. Trenchard’s Revenge is there or she’s been sunk, for Nicholas gave orders that at least one ship would remain for us. Hatonis and his men will know the best route.”
Hatonis, from the rear, spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry just to the front of the line. “There’s an old trade route, overland from Ispar to the City of the Serpent River, through Maharta. It is rarely used anymore, but it should be passable on horseback.”
De Loungville took a deep breath and said, “All right, light a torch and get out of here.”
The man who had been harboring the torches lit a spark and soon the flame was going. Erik found he had to squint, which surprised him, given how far back down the line the light was. He turned and saw de Loungville; the sergeant had his usual mask of determination in place. Erik decided he wouldn’t have noticed the sound of worry if he had been looking at the man.
Without saying anything, Erik reached out and quickly placed his hand on de Loungville’s arm, gave a quick squeeze, and released it, the only gesture he could make without saying something.
The sergeant looked at him, giving him only a brief nod of acknowledgment, before Erik moved down the tunnel. Greylock reached the junction of the tunnels, peered both ways, then motioned for the men to follow to the left. Erik reached the junction and as he started to turn the corner, he fought down the urge to look back to where de Loungville waited.
If only the Captain were here, he said to himself silently. Where could Calis be?
*
Calis held close to the wall as he stared in wide-eyed amazement. He and his father had spoken many times of what it would be like to confront their unusual heritage, a legacy of ancient magic, warped by the skill of Macros the Black, and used to bring to his human father the powers incarnate of the legendary Valheru.
Tomas had wooed and won the hand of Aglaranna, the Queen of the Elves, and had fathered Calis, impossible fruit of a union unique in history. Calis was young by the reckoning of the elven people, little more than a half century old. By human consideration, he was a man of middle years, and by any measure, he had more than a dozen lifetimes’ experience in watching the pain and madness of the creatures that lived on this world.